Chapter 2: The Prophecy
In the second year since Chieftain Medb had bound her iron chariot to the destinies of the people of Cruachan, it had been a long and freezing winter. It was one of the harshest that the elders of Rathcroghan could remember. Snow had blanketed the hills for months on end, and the biting frost had frozen even the banks of the River Suck. The barns were nearly empty. In these final months of famine, every single morsel of food was carefully rationed.
But now there was sunshine; a clear, blue sky, seemingly painted just for a day of celebration, urged the earth to breathe once more.
The solar disc was no longer cold; its warmth melted the last traces of ice and, as far as the eye could see across the fields, woods, and hills, there was a fresh promise of life.
Above the great circular fort of logs, the white smoke of the sacred fires rose lazily into the air, smelling of dried herbs and yew wood. The people no longer thought about hunger; they had put on their finest clothes over bodies thinned by winter and rejoiced with all their hearts for the young people who were now joining their destinies under the clear sky. It was a wedding day, a day of celebration.
The wedding guests, dressed in their finest cloaks of coarse wool and brightly colored tunics, had joined in an immense ring dance upon the green meadow. Loud laughter filled the air. To the rhythm of the dance, the youngsters shook small bells made of bronze and wrought iron, whose crystal-clear jingling was meant to banish the spirits of winter and bring luck to the young family. The youths danced flushed and full of life in the center of the ring, under the paternal gaze of the elders.
A little further off, at the edge of the meadow, the older children had also joined hands, caught up in a circle entirely of their own. With their cloaks fluttering and cheeks reddened from running around, the little ones faithfully imitated the adult's steps and grave gestures.
They cheered to the rhythm of the bodhrán drums and bowed with a humorous solemnity, under the proud gazes of their mothers. Their high-pitched laughter mingled with the rustle of the place and the chirping of the birds, becoming an integral part of spring’s heralds.
The bride walked barefoot in the grass, letting the train of her white linen dress get lightly soiled by the earth. Her skin was white, unnaturally white, and her slender cheeks seemed to reflect the color of her hair, which was as red as a blaze, cascading over her shoulders and down her back in waves from beneath a crown of yellow and white daffodils.
The groom, slightly lean but not frail—on the contrary, well-built, with a massive and powerful bone structure—stood like a rock beside her. The bronze torc that gleamed playfully at his neck in the sunlight and the green cloak pinned to his right shoulder with an immense brooch suited him beautifully, highlighting his chestnut hair and beard of the same color.
It was a wedding for life, not one of those trial marriages that last a year and a day. The young couple binding their destinies today had just successfully completed that trial marriage, and now, caught up in the dance, they gazed at each other in sheer happiness. They both cast glances at their three-month-old infant, held with pride and care by the paternal grandfather.
The music was full of energy. Two men with their hair gathered in long braids blew with all their might into instruments called carnyxes—huge bronze trumpets ending in a metallic boar's head. Their deep sound, like the roar of a wild beast, blended perfectly with the rhythmic beats on the bodhrán drums and the crystal-clear chords of a small harp.
As if at a signal, the village's Great Druid raised his wooden scepter into the air and silence fell. His snow-white cloak, his white locks, and the equally white beard descending to his leather belt gave him an unquestionable authority. With a piercing voice that was not shouted from the depths of his lungs, but delivered in a rhythmic and seemingly hypnotic tone, the old druid let his prophetic verses penetrate the crowd:
"Two from the fire in the sun
Three from the cold and the rain
Winds come in foreign garb from the deep
From the mists of tomorrow and yesterday
When hunger tests us
May they find solace
Three from the cold and the green
Two from the sand that drifts away
Winds come from yesterday and tomorrow
To quench hatred and hunger with bread"
Rhythmically, emphatically, the verses were repeated as if intentionally meant to be memorized by the entire crowd.
***
At those exact moments, summoned as if by the druid's prophetic verses, Anemo, Remi, and the furry ones emerged from the Cave of the Cats into a reality that was hard to accept.
At first, with their arms shielding their eyes against the sunlight, they did not even notice the colorful crowd gathered behind them, above the cave, just a stone's throw away.
Anemo measured the narrow, muddy dirt road where tracks of carts and cattle were imprinted and asked, completely disoriented:
"Where is the car? Dad... where is Dad's jeep?"
Aeolus, the most rational among them, was equally bewildered.
"We left the professor right by his jeep at the entrance, near the turnstile... Where is the turnstile? And... and the fence?"
"Maybe it moved further away because of the black ice," Remi said, looking at the surrounding meadow, but immediately realized how absurd her words were, since there was no trace of black ice or winter.
Only the green grass would not have surprised them, as it is normal for the island to be green all year round, but the light in the middle of the night turned all their logic upside down, and that air, so spring-like... it was far too spring-like for the month of December.
Sirocco simply leaped from Anemo's arms and... by the time he touched the ground, he was no longer a child, but the ginger and naive ball of fur they all knew.
Remi instantly had a déjà vu. She felt as though she were seeing little Khamsin, who used to transform from kitten to child and child to kitten at his own whim in Amarna, back when there were no digital disruptors in the atmosphere and magic was freer to happen.
"Sirocco!" she cried out. "How did you do that?"
"Did you see, Miss Remi?"—with a single leap, the kitten became a child again.—"I'm learning more and more as the days go by!" he shouted full of enthusiasm and ran off toward the crowd that seemed to be waiting for them.
"Anemo, furry ones..."—Remi leaned on Anemo's arm, stopping him from immediately chasing after the little one.—"We are not in our own time, but in the past, in a period without technology."
"Mon Dieu, ma chérie! What on earth are you saying? Let's go and ask that colorful crowd. It might be some local festival or something, and the professor might have been forced to move the car. You'd better call him, Anemo!"
Anemo instinctively reached for his jacket pocket, but his fingers froze on the cold screen of his smartphone. There was no signal. Not even a single bar. The electronic screen looked like a dead object, an absurd piece of black glass in a world that breathed through other forces.
Meanwhile, little Sirocco, having become a boy again and waving his red-and-black scarf like a hero's cape, had already crossed the crest of the limestone hillock.
The appearance of the ginger little boy, followed by a barefoot woman in a rustling silk dress, a man holding a huge torch in his hand, an imposing black cat, and a little mouse, instantly took the crowd's breath away.
Only the Great Druid, remaining with his scepter raised in the air, continued the rhythmic incantation:
"Two from the fire in the sun!"—and took a few steps, pointing his sacred staff toward Remi and Anemo. He paused strategically and, shifting his attention to Mistral and Aeolus, continued:—"Three from the cold and the rain."
Our travelers felt involuntarily drawn toward the colorful crowd, while the druid's voice continued patiently:
"Winds come in foreign garb from the deep
From the mists of tomorrow and yesterday
When hunger tests us
May they find solace
Three from the cold and the green
Two from the sand that drifts away
Winds come from yesterday and tomorrow
To quench hatred and hunger with bread"
"It is them..." whispered the groom's father, pressing the infant to his chest and making an ancient sign of protection. "The winds in foreign garb."
Remi felt the damp earth of the place cling to her bare toes. She looked at the druid, then at the fire-haired bride, and realized that, just like in Amarna, they were standing in a sacred knot of time. Queen Tiye's astrological chart had not lied: the gates were open, and they had become, quite against their will, the answer to this tribe's prayers.
Anemo took a step forward, instinctively gripping the cylindrical torch in his hand while all eyes were fixed upon him.
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